"So what do you think about Lane?" Dr. Skeffington asked out of the blue.
Harris whirled around. He had entered the small break room without making his presence known, had simply spoken, and she'd had her back to him. To her credit, she didn't acknowledge her surprise and simply answered. "I don't know. I'm not sure what to make of him," she said, closed the cabinet she had been checking for its contents and took a seat.
"It's fine, you can speak freely." Skeffington opened the small fridge and took out a can of coke. "Do you want anything?"
"Is there any Sprite?"
"Um..." he scanned the fridge. "Yes, actually. Lucky you, that's the last one." He threw Harris the can, which she caught effortlessly in mid-air. He sat down at the table, facing her.
The woman adjusted her glasses. "What did you mean just then? About speaking freely?"
"I don't know," the doctor said and took a sip from his coke. "Personally, there's something about him that just makes my blood run cold."
Harris looked relieved. "And I thought it was just me not being used to... well, all this." She motioned around her.
The doctor grinned. "Doesn't happen every day that MI6 comes knocking at your door, does it?"
"Not really," she said and blushed a little when she looked away. Abruptly she looked into his eyes again. "Do you know what he's done? Lane, I mean. To end up here."
Skeffington sighed. "Believe me, Miss Harris-"
"Charlotte. Please," she interrupted him.
"Charlotte." He put on an exhausted smile. "I don't think you'd want to know."
/\/\/\/\/\/\
"Why do they keep him in there?" Skye asked.
This time Ilsa had paid for coffee. They had taken it to go and made their way to Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, where they found a bench secluded enough for their taste. When the dark-haired woman didn't reply at once, Skye filled the silence to try and make her feel at ease.
"We need to get you an alibi," Skye stated. "The best alibi there is."
"I know that." For a moment they were quiet after all, both lost in thought about the sheer scale of what they were planning to do. The possible repercussions. Ilsa watched the light catch in the silvery surface of the sealed soda can between them. "So," she asked casually after the silence had stretched too long, "how is everyone?"
"They're doing okay," Skye said.
The British agent knew at once she was holding back on something. She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't help it. "And Ethan?"
Skye chuckled. "Ethan haggled with the doctors for so long that they got sick of him and threw him out early. He's fine, he even was there when they handed over Lane to you guys."
Ilsa smiled. It sounded like he was back on his feet. Maybe she should have come along to Washington after all. She pushed the thought away and resumed their previous topic. "MI6 wanted me to kill Lane because they thought there was no way to get him back alive," she explained patiently. "But when the CIA offered them a way out of that dilemma they decided to lock him up in a very secure location instead."
"At the heart of MI6." Skye nodded thoughtfully and looked at her coffee.
"No one knows about the holding facilities inside. This time they want to stay in control no matter what." She paused. "Are you sure about this?" Ilsa couldn't help asking. "I can't help you, other than the bit of paperwork and dropping off your equipment, and your closest back-up is in Madrid. This might sound strange, coming from me, but I'm not sure if it's worth the risk."
The blond woman sighed. The motion went through her torso in a way that made it obvious to Faust that she had just made a decision. "Benji isn't well," Skye said. "It was bad two years ago, after London, but that got better quickly. But now all of that is coming back with Kashmir on top, and I wasn't even there to help you."
She understood. "This is for him."
"In a way, it's for all of us."
"Can I ask you something?"
Skye nodded for her to go ahead.
Ilsa hesitated. It was there in her head, ready to be spoken. How do you do it? Have a relationship in all this chaos? What is it like? You're right, you weren't there there during the plutonium mission, everything you know comes from from Benji. What is it like to be able to trust someone like that, to know for certain someone tells you the truth? And to go through hell based on that knowledge?
"Are you gonna tell him about this?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"So what's your plan?" Ilsa asked, half-expecting a We'll figure it out Hunt-style.
Instead, Skye handed her a black and white picture. It showed a young woman in a black dress behind a gambling table. Probably a screenshot taken from security camera footage, judging from the angle.
"Who is she?" Ilsa asked curiously
Skye waited.
The other woman looked back at the picture. And back up at Skye. "It's you," she said mildly surprised.
"It's me ten years ago, undercover in Monte Carlo as Clémentine LaFière. I posed as a croupière. My mission was to infiltrate a ring of illegal gamblers with an assassination business on the side. The operation is long over, but the alias is still on Interpol's Most Wanted List. No one knows Clém's an agent, because no agency will back her – since IMF doesn't do official."
Agent Holt watched Ilsa's face as she put the rest together herself. "That is your plan?" she commented wide-eyed.
Skye nodded.